STRAYING FROM YOUR STAR
This early snow is deep and heavy
It clings to the trees like new sashes and scarves
Last night I heard the F-16's
practicing their 30 Code sorties
It was not like a car going over my house
or hearing any number of cars
There is a lot of stress in these things they say
and I wonder: for whom
If it's not the Afghans it's the Chechens
The children of the Afghans look a lot like
my grandchildren in Oregon, and the children
of the Chechens like my little ones in Jordan
and all their sons, like mine, are Adam
and all their daughters, Eve (which are many)
We lie quietly together, loving one another
and when they are fast asleep in bliss
I lose my fears, looking for a loving touch
I would not burden them with my sadness
which is part of my punishment for being a poet
because, when you are making something beautiful
of words, everyday words that could become hymns
or plans or even prayers or blessings
layer by layer, with consummate care
a mistake could be disastrous
because, if you are not careful and precise
with their structure, the metaphors
running beneath their surface might crack
If you crack them your forgiveness is uncertain
because you know that gravity gets weaker
the farther you stray from your star
NO RETURN
You will feel nothing until
you get to the point of no return
And you know that heavy objects
make the water ripple, and no one's life
is ever safe. Forces attract
and are repelled, and bodies move
and you know what Dante said
at the entrance to Hell
and you go about speaking words
or writing them. It is rumored
that Our Lord Jesus Christ will rise
again. I have given up sweets for Lent
except for chocolate, which is after all
only a bean. Hosanna
Then I think I am Light wading through
a kind of Light I can barely remember
I see my mother is in the kitchen
making hot cross buns
And this Light tastes
like cinnamon and raisins
My brother pours syrup on pancakes
stacked to the moon
his favorite thing. A perfect storm of broken cells
took him, elegant neurons, a billion units
of blown away DNA. I listen
to Mahler's Eighth, the Symphony
of a Thousand, and I wonder
Will I ever sleep again
.
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About Me
- Joyce Ellen Davis
- 1. In dreams I am often young and thin with long blond hair. 2. In real life I am no longer young, or thin, or blonde. 3. My back hurts. 4. I hate to sleep alone. (Fortunately I don't have to!) 5. My great grandfather had 2 wives at once. 6. I wish I had more self-discipline. (I was once fired from a teaching position in a private school because they said I was "too unstructured and undisciplined." --Who, me??? Naaaahhh....) 7. I do not blame my parents for this. Once, at a parent-teacher conference, the teacher told me my little boy was "spacey." We ALL are, I told her. The whole fan damily is spacey. She thought I was kidding. I wasn't. 8. I used to travel with a theater reperatory company. My parents weren't happy about this. 9. My mother was afraid that I would run off and paint flowers on my cheeks and live in a commune, and grow vegetables. I once smoked pot. ONE TIME. 10. I don't drink or smoke. (Or swear, much. Well, I drink milk, and water, and orange juice, and stuff. Cocoa. I love Pepsi.) 11. Most of my friends are invisible. 12. I am a poet and a writer. All of my writing on these pages is copyrighted. Borrowing (without acknowledgment) is a sin.
1 comment:
Sometimes, the only comment I can make about your exquisite poetry, is simply:
Beautiful.
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